


Through Each Lifetime

by jadedlights



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedlights/pseuds/jadedlights
Summary: Since his conception, Ryo has only ever wanted one thing, even if failure to attain it meant punishment from the wrath of god. This focus never wavers—until he finds a soul he can't quite seem to truly let go of.(in which Ryo chases after Akira lifetime after lifetime without understanding what he's doing and why it keeps happening until it's too late)based on "25 lives" by tongari.





	Through Each Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> this is a self-indulgent half character study/half ship fic because i needed some sort of outlet for my screaming after watching the entire crybaby series.  
> has a bit of canon divergence and is told through ryo's pov.

* * *

****

  1. **_The very first time, you are blonde and don't love me back._**



The edges of your ears twitch restlessly, fur standing on end and dark eyes staring expectantly. It's a bit unnerving. You look like you've seen through both me and the intentions I've yet to perfect. There are still loose ends I've yet to tie, even if they're supposed to be just short of coming to fruition. It makes me feel a sliver of discomfort despite being someone of my stature and status. I can feel my expression sharpen at you while you still retain your gaze, unflinching.  

I know I'm something you don't recognize. I can see it despite the limits of a face like yours imposes on any expression you're physically able to make. Yet despite these limits, somehow you tell me you understand what someone like me wants to do—what sort of consequences are about to be unfairly set on the world you know.

I find myself blankly looking downwards at those wide eyes of yours with a feeling I can't quite put a name to. If I had to describe it (and I really can't) it's a feeling that meets somewhere near the halfway point between curiosity and some odd form of what I think the other demons joke about as "endearment". You’re not even sentient.

Even as I fire shots of light in every possible direction, as I see your tiny form change from a living being, nothing but ash, and to the pure light I've created right in front of my eyes, I can't seem to stop myself from thinking that I’d–perhaps–want to see what form you'd take on next. The wrath of god rains down inevitably from the sky above my head, and I wait patiently to experience (for the umpteenth time) something he thinks is a rightful punishment deserving of the hazard he perceives me as.

 

* * *

 

  1. **_The next time you are brunette, and you do._**



I wake up from a drunken stupor with a hand pressed to my throbbing head.

There are very few things in this universe that I don't understand, but this is one thing I seem to trip on. It brings back that same discomfort I felt the first time we met. Much to my surprise, I had a dream, which in and of itself, is an anomaly to me because I don't sleep. I never need it to begin with—I need to stay alert to keep watching that planet for an opportunity turn it into my own world.

God doesn’t agree with my desire for a planet dominated by the demon race, evidently.

In the wake of my moment of unconsciousness, I had seen a small blonde haired human boy sitting confusedly at the horn of a cliff, and another small human boy with hair a light shade of brown. The boy with brown hair was crying while clutching at the other boy's back with the intention of comfort I never think someone should be offering to someone else—let alone to a lone stranger hunched over so suspiciously in the middle of no where.  

  

* * *

 

 

  1. **_After a while, I give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything._**



The next time we cross paths, I see a reptilian with rough green skin covered in lines of perfectly overlapping scales. You look completely different, but somehow, I can still recognize you. I get that strange feeling I felt when I first laid eyes upon you. It's a stronger feeling this time, one that seems to begin leaning toward the right (that… endearment) despite how absolutely atrocious you look. That endearment isn't enough to stop me from doing what I had forced myself to rise from a bed of fire to do, however.  

You're far from attractive, I think as I rip the horizon open with the same beams of cursed light racing out from my fingers. I close my eyes and breathe inwards, a comforting burn of carbon monoxide filling my lungs, the consequences of god already whipping at me again in a useless effort to stop me. I’ve already been set on this idea for so long; it's futile to think I'll stop now. I've just never foreseen that I'd ever stumble upon you, nor this strange curiosity to see what you've become in every timeline.

  

* * *

 

 

  1. **_Because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you._**



I poke at the loose dirt around my feet. I don't know where I am, and I don't know what odd form I've taken on (it's... oddly hairy), but based on the other hairy beings I see around me, I think this a new ability to blend in with my surroundings. This is useful. Despite this body being at a lower tier of power relative to what I truly am, I still seem to have the similar level of ability relative to those around me. It's a far more diluted level than I'm used to, but it's enough to get started on something as clockwork as eating breakfast upon waking up.

They're too inferior to things I would eat, though.

The beings I know–judging from the horrified looks on their faces as I jump and slash at every breathing thing I see–aren't exempt from this. The blood that explodes from each body are only single tallies to my goal, and the closer I get, the closer this sets my nerves on fire. I feel a sharp cackle rip out of my mouth, these inept hands returning to the weapons they were originally.

I need to awaken all the demons, and we need to overrun this world.

To be frank, I don't know why I want all of this or feel so hellbent on achieving it, but that doesn't matter if it allows me to flex my own strength.

In some form of exasperation, god decides that meteor rains and fire aren't enough to quiet me down this time. Consequently, he decides to encase me using a cold and crass sigh he breathes out, creating a prison of ice. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth in a hiss as the ice springs out beneath my feet, something I haven't heard from myself in the span of hundreds of millennia. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I see you (I can tell it's you, oddly) sitting with your back turned towards me in a world of black.      

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together, when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me._**



Throughout the first few hundred years of being encased in what feels and what I’m sure looks like cold foggy glass, I wriggle my fingers in absent rumination, trying to make sense of why I keep seeing you. How do I keep seeing and recognizing that it's you in the first place, even if you just appear as a shadow? I don’t even know who you are, yet I can still recognize you by soul.

When I close my eyes, I see flashes of the same two boys doing nearly everything together. The blonde doesn't seem to laugh or feel much, but I can tell a grin still tugs at the corner of his mouth. The brunette on the other hand, constantly has laughter bubbling from an open-mouthed smile if there are no tears running down his cheeks. He holds the blonde boy's hand, pointing to something in the distance, and the two run toward it until they are faded by white fog.

   

* * *

 

 

  1. **_I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realize they're bad ideas. (and in our times together, I have many, many bad ideas.)_**



I feel restless, not even able to kick my foot as an expression of this frustration. My body is comatose after spending so long being stuck in this ice, but my mind continues to race marathons about events I know haven't even transpired. 

The blonde boy–me, I'm willing to accept now–drags you into a dingy hole in the wall place full of people doing things I know the ignorance resulting from your innocence can't process all at once. Lights of various colors flash everywhere in this club before one of the girls standing in the middle screams, skin tearing open to reveal a demon. Finally, hell springs forth.

I watch with fascination as I see bodies explode all around the room, whether from being destroyed by or becoming a demon themselves. Most of all, I watch you being overcome by something seething just behind you. I don't know why I did this to you; I don't know why you trusted me so whole heartedly to give me the power to do this to you in the first place.   

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_When we meet as adults, you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you. yet always, you forgive me._**



In my last years of being stuck in ice, you reappear. In this vision, I look the same as I had the previous time, but your overall gait has become darker and sharper, showing a masculinity previously impossible for you to have achieved on your own. It’s quite an attractive appearance, I let myself think briefly.

The warmth (or should I say heat), of your resting glare sets some sort of fire blazing through my veins, and after thousands upon thousands of years, I have the strength finally to break myself out. 

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_As if you understand what's going on, and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist._**



I think about the constant changes in your appearance and necessities. Somehow, I see the same unwavering trust and affection expressed towards me through each vision of you I have. This is what makes trudging through a ground rapidly being buried by snow, I think with disappointment, feel so empty.  

I can't feel your presence in this lifetime.  

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_And ones where we just, barely, never meet._**



As I continue to wander tirelessly through the biting cold of this era, I wonder if I had just passed you without knowing.

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_I hate those, I prefer the ones in which you kill me._**



Time flies by, and I find myself dragging myself through a sand at a temperature that bites at the soles of my feet rather than the cold snow I'd become accustomed to.  

Under the blazing sun, I see a dark-skinned man approaching me, barking something to the people behind him in a language I can neither hear nor bring myself to understand in this heat. I look down at my hands in exhaustion, realizing this time that the issue stems from the pallid tone of skin I see. 

‘Romans’, I learned after they had caged me up, are barbarians that refuse to give up on this war they keep waging to claim this land as theirs. I smile ironically. After all these visions of such a tame version of myself, I'm finally rewarded (with the same fearful and disgusted sneers from everyone around me) a more accurate depiction.  

When we finally meet in this lifetime, your skin is even darker than the ones I’ve seen, and the axe you have in your hands is steadied to the ground. The role you have in this world really doesn’t suit the demeanor that I know sits just beneath the blank expression you're showing me. I know because you have the same eyes you’ve always had despite this deadpan look on your face. They tie me to a bed of bricks set in the centre of the room, telling you that I’m ready. I can feel my heart beating faster as I see you approaching.

It’s a lot messier and I don’t like the smell of rot here, but I vastly prefer the punishment from you than the ones deemed more deserving to me by god. There's a lot that runs through my head as you raise the axe above me. For some reason, your eyes are glistening, tears threating to come out. I wonder if you realize you're still the same even as the axe cuts through my neck. 

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_But when all's said and done I'd rather surrender to you in other ways._**



A being with the low calibre of everything you've been up to this point isn't enough to truly put an end to me. Especially if I'm constantly standing with firm footing against the storm of what’s supposed to be the being that trumps us all. Each punishment is only enough to push me back in such a minute distance that it looks as if I've barely moved at all, I’d like to think. Maybe–the thought crosses briefly no matter how much I bat it away–if I could find something worthy that rivals or defeats this bloodthirsty, selfish desire of mine, I would finally surrender.  

I snort.  Nothing like that exists, I reassure myself with a less balanced certainty. It can't. 

At the time, I didn't think I was foolish enough to let this confidence (or in all honesty, bravado) hide what I knew was starting to clear the fog I see in myself. This clearing that should reveal the thing I _truly_ wanted most.  

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_Even though each time, I know I'll see you again, I always wonder. Is this the last time? Is that really you?_**



Throughout each human lifetime that I walk through, I see you over and over again. As time passes, I begin to wonder if I'll begin to forget the energy you emit because it drifts further and further every time. Until one day, all the visions I've had up to this point collect piece by piece to form a puzzle I'm not sure I'll like the product of.

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_And what if you're already happy without me?_**



Time passes a lot slower in the lifetime I kept envisioning. Apparently, my name is Ryo and yours is Akira, and unsurprisingly, you're my best friend. You grow into that same confident figure my dreams had created, but the passive glare of your eyes has sharpened even further, narrowing your vision to something ( _someone_ ) else. 

Your sister, you call her.

I can tell by the quiver in your tone of voice that there’s more complexity behind that statement you yourself don't like touching, so I shrug and accept it. If she makes you happy for the time being, it makes no difference to the image you have of me. That’s all I need. If she and her family hadn't taken you under their wing in the first place, we'd never meet after that encounter on the cliff.

She herself however, is completely insignificant to me. In fact, she's overshadowed by so much irrelevance that I barely remember her name.

My best friend, the only person I’ve ever cared about, is you.

  

* * *

 

 

  1. **_Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brilliantly as you._**



I've finally regained my original form in this time, but when I tell you who and what I am, I'm met with a hatred you've never directed at me before. "Ryo," you bite out in a rough tone, "I’ll kill you the next time I see you."  

You're clutching something in your hands, and every word you spit at me is enunciated with a form of protectiveness I know was, and still is, reserved for her. Tears are all over your face, but I think you're still beautiful nonethless. 

I mirror that same statement back bemusedly as you turn around and stomp away, not realizing the true consequences behind these words as your back recedes from my line of sight. I don't realize how much fervor lies in your promise relative to mine. 

Nor do I realize I'm only half serious.

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find one where you'll return to me._**



I've never known what love was. It's a pointless emotion that can’t even exist because of the ills of human nature. I might just be too cynical, but it’s something I’ve seen myself.

I gaze up at the stars littering the night sky and slowly recall every memory we’ve shared, chuckling at how accurately they'd all matched what I'd see whenever I was unconscious. Normally you would laugh harder than I would, giving me a playful slap to the shoulder. I look over at you when I'm met with silence, as your face rests peacefully—eyes closed and lips neither up nor downturned.

There's something out of place I think urgently, holding your face in my hands. The warmth I've become so accustomed to, am so familiar with, has completely dissipated. I rise to my knees, awareness snapping me back to reality as I process what I'm seeing.  "Wake up," I whisper, lifting you into my lap.

"Akira, please, wake up!" I say louder, shaking the only half of you that I'd spared through that same bloodthirst that always overtook me in battle. Your body doesn't move, one arm slipping limply against my knee because of the only angle I can afford to hold you from. I think I finally understand the feeling I've felt all this time, and all the fog has finally cleared.

"I love you," I shout to ears that I know have fallen deaf because of my own claws, "Akira, please!" I can hear myself whimper, something streaming down my eyes. Without looking, I already know what this is; I've always seen it streaming down your face whenever you were upset. I hear my voice shout your name over and over in denial, hugging what's left of the warm soul I've followed through every one of its lifetimes. 

It's been a while, but I can still recognize the sight of inflamed rock beginning to coat the sky. It's the same punishment he’s thrown at me ad infinitum, I think wearily, holding you against my chest with a cheek pressed to the brown hair I've always seen.  

My eyes snap open when they see why this time is different. I've done what I've always been punished for, yes, but I realize with widening eyes and a bitter taste in my mouth that I've finally been had. You win, I think tiredly to the omniscient presence floating in the air. I've taken the soul I've been so fixated on, have grown to actually love and care for, with my own hands. We never got to live together in this new world. That's what everything I've done in this lifetime was for.

My efforts, everything I’ve meticulously planned was intended to build up to what I thought would be a befitting climax, has only left a denouement of resignation and regret in its wake.

Rock and flame pierces my skin once again with a new sense of skillfully acquired arrogance (I can already hear the laughter of triumph) at each point of contact with my body.  

 

* * *

 

 

  1. **_This lifetime never comes._**  




For once, I don't have the energy or the desire to fight back.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first piece of uh, Not Lab Report or Science Paper i've written in like 6 years, so i'm sorry if it's a bit choppy or the way the sentences are formatted is odd.  
> huge thank you to my bros xander, burnie, and journey for bearing with me crybabying about the devilman.  
> comments and feedback appreciated!


End file.
